


Live in the Moment (Before it Passes)

by pyrrhical (anoyo)



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Background Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-21 13:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12459072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoyo/pseuds/pyrrhical
Summary: Jack retires, John goes to Earth for the party, and both diplomacy and mischief ensue.





	Live in the Moment (Before it Passes)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mlraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlraven/gifts).



> Written for mlraven on the occasion of the 2017 Fandom Growth Exchange!
> 
> Beta by the absolutely lovely [dirty_diana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dirty_diana/pseuds/dirty_diana), who made this so much better. Any remaining mistakes are mine alone.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this! I tried to work in a few different aspects of your request/s, and I'm not sure how well I succeeded, but still: I hope you enjoy this!

The festivities are over, and the lingering has started. In the rising volume of conversation, John pulls at his tie and glances around the room. Lieutenant General Jack O’Neill is a legend, and his retirement party is full to bursting with everyone who’s ever held a major role in Stargate Command. Most of the faces are familiar, to at least some degree, though John knows very few of them well. He’s been a part of the Stargate program for seven years -- closing in on eight -- but he’s spent almost none of that time Earthside. 

John sees no one he’d really like to catch up with, and instead seeks out O’Neill himself. He spots him in a small circle with Carter and General Landry. He makes his way over, through a sea of dress uniforms and ever louder conversation, stopping for a few short, polite conversations as people recognize him. 

By the time John reaches O’Neill, Colonel Mitchell has replaced General Landry, and all three SG-1 commanders are laughing about something. John lets himself catch O’Neill’s eye as he approaches, rather than stumbling into a conversation that might not be any of his business.

“Sheppard,” O’Neill says, holding out a hand.

John takes it, says, “General O’Neill. Congratulations on your retirement, sir.” He pulls out of the handshake and stands back, balanced on his heels between Mitchell and Carter. John greets them both with eye contact and a nod. “Colonel Carter, Colonel Mitchell.”

“John,” Carter says, smiling and sipping champagne. 

Mitchell nods to him, leaning his shoulders forward a bit as he does, hands in his pockets. “Colonel Sheppard.”

“Thanks,” O’Neill says, quick on the heels of Mitchell’s greeting. He shrugs his shoulders. “Not sure what I’m going to do with the time, honestly.”

John doesn’t know O’Neill well, has really only interacted with him a double-handful of times, but he pulls from what he knows to say, “Drink and fish?”

O’Neill lets out a bark of a laugh. “Probably true.”

“Definitely true,” Sam adds, smiling widely.

A server passes by and John snags a drink, sipping it without looking at it. It’s whiskey, but he’s not sure the make. It’s smooth and sharp, and John takes another sip. “Sounds like a good time to me,” he says, slipping his other hand into his pocket.

“I saw Woolsey earlier,” O’Neill says, gesturing with a hand to the room. “Who did you leave in charge of the expedition?”

John grins. “My second-in-command, Major Evan Lorne.” It was an amusing memory.

“He must be loving that,” Mitchell says, laughter in his eyes.

“Not so much,” John says, letting his grin widen a little. “Woolsey told him it would be great experience for when he has his own command.”

Mitchell laughs outright and Carter grins. O’Neill raises an eyebrow, says, “For once, Woolsey’s right.” He pauses. “I think I’m missing something.”

“Major Lorne is pretty adamant about not wanting a command any higher than a few men in the field,” Carter says, grinning into her drink. “I tried to promote him once, and he talked me out of it.”

O’Neill shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“I can imagine that conversation,” Mitchell says, pulling a hand out of his pocket to give a half-shrug to Carter. He looks at John. “Did Woolsey make you do it?”

John nods. “Walked up, told me to go put Lorne in charge and then get my dress blues dry cleaned. Walked off again very quickly.”

Mitchell snorts and shoots John a grin. “Never say the man can’t delegate.” He laughs again, then continues, “So, did Lorne shoot you down?”

“Twice,” John agrees, taking another sip of his whiskey of unknown origin. “Once politely, once with a little bit of begging.” He shrugs. “I talked him around.”

“Bribery?” Mitchell asks.

“Oh, yeah,” John says, grinning.

“If I was still paid to care, I’d be a little concerned about you bribing your second,” O’Neill says dryly, giving John a single raised brow. 

“Nah,” John says, shrugging. “He was never going to say no. Lorne always says, ‘You don’t get what you don’t ask for.’ It’s a good trait to have, in a second. He’s not afraid to question.”

“He’s been saying that for years,” Mitchell says, shaking his head. 

John shrugs again. “It works for him.”

“I didn’t know you knew Major Lorne that well, Cam,” Carter says. She takes another sip of her drink and looks between John and Mitchell, her usual curiosity in her eyes.

Mitchell shifts his weight and he shrugs. “We were at the Academy together,” he says, giving her a lopsided grin.

“Really?” Carter asks. “I still can’t believe I never met you. Either of you! You were only a year behind me.”

“I can believe it,” O’Neill says, broad smile on his face. “From what I’ve heard, you didn’t do anything but study and try to show up everyone else while you were there. I’m amazed you met anyone.”

“Ha,” Carter says drily, rolling her eyes. 

John takes another swallow of his drink, glancing between the three officers. He lets his gaze drift toward where the exit is, past the crush of people and sound. He only snaps back when he hears his name.

“I can’t remember, Sheppard,” O’Neill is saying. “Did you attend the Academy?”

“No,” John answers, taking another quick drink. “Not before officer training.”

O’Neill nods, shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“Just think,” Mitchell says. “The lot of us could have been there at once. Make it even harder for the alumni mag, what with all the top secret clearances.”

Carter laughs. “I don’t envy whoever has that job.”

Mitchell starts to answer, but O’Neill glances quickly over his shoulder and draws the attention away. “I think I’m needed,” O’Neill says, humor in his voice. 

John shifts a bit and sees Dr. Jackson gesturing impatiently from across the room. Carter laughs and Mitchell says, “You’d better go. He’s been wound tigher’n rope for weeks.”

Carter keeps laughing as O’Neill raises an eyebrow and says darkly, “I know.” He glances over his shoulder again before saying, “Carter, Mitchell, Sheppard, I’m sure I’ll see you later.”

“Of course, sir,” Carter says, visibly sucking in her laughter.

“General,” John says, raising his glass. Mitchell mimics the gesture, sans glass, and O’Neill turns to walk away.

“Did Daniel finally cave and request vacation?” Carter asks, finishing off her champagne.

Mitchell groans and rolls his neck. “Yeah, though I basically had to force it on him. I grounded the team for the next week and a half. Straight told Landry why.”

“Was he surprised?” Carter asks, raising her brows.

“Not even a little,” Mitchell says.

“Who’s babysitting Vala?” Carter asks, a small smile on her face.

Mitchell laughs. “I drew the short straw. Teal’c is going off world, so it was me or Landry, and he shot that down in the same sentence as he agreed to ground us. Said, ‘Consider SG-1 grounded until the eighteenth and Vala is not my problem.’ I figured we’d go treasure hunting.” Mitchell winks and Carter laughs. 

“For what?” she asks. 

“She thinks gold,” Mitchell says. “It’s more an extended camping trip that’ll end in her drinking a whole lot on P3X-472. They love her.”

Carter laughs again, and John lets his gaze wander back toward the exit. He turns back to the conversation when he notices Carter’s eyes flicker over to him. 

“What about you, John?” Carter asks. “Are you taking some time off while you’re here?”

John shakes his head. “Flying back to Colorado tomorrow to gate out. We have some trade negotiations on Tuesday we still need to prepare for.” He finishes his drink. “Unfortunately, that means I should be heading out. The flight’s early.” John runs a hand down his tie without thinking about it and grins when he notices. A dead giveaway on why John really wants to leave, but he doesn’t think Carter was fooled to begin with.

Carter smiles and shrugs. “The _George Hammond_ will be out that way later this year, so I suppose I’ll see you then.”

Putting out his hand, John says, “I suppose you will.” Carter grips his hand tightly before she lets go. John turns to Mitchell and nods his head. “Colonel Mitchell.”

Mitchell doesn’t respond for a moment, then says, “I think I’ll join you. If I don’t get out of here soon, I’ll fall asleep where I stand.” He glances at Carter, then over his shoulder to where O’Neill disappeared. “How everyone else is still going is beyond me.”

“That’s because you’re secretly an old man,” Carter says, smiling.

“Secretly?” Mitchell asks. “Obviously I need to work harder.”

Carter laughs, then steps in and gives Mitchell a hug. “Good to see you, Cam.” She turns and says, “You too, John.”

“You as well, ma’am,” John agrees, nodding before he walks away. 

It doesn’t take Mitchell more than a minute to catch up with him, but he stays silent, matching John’s pace as they make their way outside, politely waving off advances at conversation. At the hall’s drive, John hails a cab and Mitchell sticks his hands back in his pockets.

When the cab parks, Mitchell walks around and slides into the far side of the cab. John gives the address of his hotel.

They ride in silence until Mitchell says, “You don’t mind?”

John glances at him side-eyed, but Mitchell is staring out the window of the cab, watching the lights and colors of D.C. fly by. “Of course not,” John says, shrugging. He watches as Mitchell loosens his tie and drops his cap into his lap, running a hand through his hair, a small smile on his face.

The cab stops outside the hotel, a fairly fancy affair for the military’s dime, and John pays the driver before he steps out.

Mitchell drops a “thanks” to the driver before he follows suit, and moves to follow John into the building.

John makes his way to his room, pulling the key card out of his wallet as he goes and letting them both into the third floor suite he’s been assigned. He’s barely closed the door before Mitchell snags the cap from his head and kisses him, open-mouthed and quick, wrapping a hand around the back of John’s neck.

Tossing John’s cap to join his own on a convenient chair, Mitchell says slowly, “How much did you hate that?” His eyebrows quirk and he leans off to the side, indicating the party.

“Almost as much as Evan hates running Atlantis,” John drawls, unknotting his tie and pulling it through his collar, tossing it to join his hat.

Mitchell huffs a laugh and John feels it on his face. “What’d you end up bribing him with?”

John tugs Mitchell’s tie free and sends it to join his own. “Guess,” he says, unbuttoning Mitchell’s jacket.

Backing out of John’s grasp, Mitchell hums before switching on the little alarm radio. Some fifties jaunt filters through and Mitchell says, “I bet there’s a camera involved.”

John steps back into Mitchell’s space and grins. “It’s almost like you’ve met him.”

“It’s like he _wants_ to get us court-martialed,” Mitchell says, a laugh in his voice. He intercepts John’s hands before they can start back on the buttons of John’s jacket and redirects them, placing the right on his shoulder, and catching John’s left in his right. Mitchell slips his left arm around John’s waist and says, “Dance with me,” his words a gust of air into John’s ear.

John rolls his eyes but lets his right arm drift around Mitchell’s neck. “Sap.” He lets Mitchell lead him in something that might be a cousin of the waltz, once removed and twice replaced.

“Now, John,” Mitchell says, his voice a mock of a reprimand. “There’s a difference between keeping a regulation distance and looking like you want to run away first chance you get.”

Chuckling, John leans to tuck his chin into the junction between Mitchell’s neck and shoulder. “Carter knows how much I hate formal functions.” He taps Mitchell’s shoulder with a finger. “So do you.” He kisses the side of Mitchell’s neck. “Wanting to run away wasn’t a cover.”

“I’m not enough incentive?” Mitchell asks, humor in his voice.

John shrugs. “I knew you’d follow me.”

“Ass,” Mitchell says, his hand slipping under John’s jacket to rest in the small of his back. The radio station switches to Presley and Mitchell halts their movement. “Fortunately, I know how you can make it up to me.”

John hums, then whispers, “Evan’ll kill me if you don’t let me set up the camera first.” He grins when Mitchell starts laughing, dropping his face into John’s neck.

“Jeez,” Mitchell says. “Way to ruin the mood. God damn camera,” Mitchell says, still laughing. “I just hate knowing it’s there, staring at me.”

“Go into the bathroom while I set it up,” John says. “Then you won’t know where it is.”

Mitchell pulls back far enough to meet John’s eyes. “You are an evil man.”

“Yeah, but you can’t be nervous in every direction. It’ll work,” John says. He runs his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Mitchell’s neck. “I will even blow you.”

Mitchell laughs and tilts his head back to look at the ceiling for guidance. “You’re bribing me to have sex with you with more sex?” Mitchell gives John a look, eyebrows raised, lopsided grin on his face.

John kisses his smile briefly and steps back, letting his arms drop. “Boy, are you lucky.”

“Apparently,” Mitchell agrees. He throws up his hands and heads for the bathroom. “There is no camera,” he says. “There is no camera. There is no fucking camera.”

John laughs as the door closes and pulls the camera out of his bag, setting it up as quickly and quietly as he knows how. He slips out of his jacket and folds it over the back of a chair before he calls, “It’s safe now.”

Mitchell steps out of the bathroom, shrugs off drops his own jacket next to John’s and sets his hands on his hips. “There is no camera,” he repeats.

“Sure,” John agrees. He laughs as Mitchell throws his hands up and moves to corral John against the bed, letting himself be manhandled.

“Ass,” Mitchell says, unbuttoning John’s shirt as John undoes his own cuffs.

John shrugs off the shirt, then pulls the tee he wore underneath over his head. “You love it,” he says, starting in on Mitchell’s shirt. 

“God help me, but I do,” Mitchell agrees, pulling John’s belt loose from his pants and dropping it on the floor. His shirt is off moments later, John’s hands sliding into the ribbed tank top Mitchell had on underneath and peeling it over his head. John has his hands on Mitchell’s belt just as Mitchell slips one hand around John’s neck and the other over his ass, pulling him in for a kiss.

Sheer experience has Mitchell’s belt on the floor and his pants pushed down over his ass a few seconds later, as Mitchell continues to kiss him, open-mouthed and slow. John takes a step and pivots, spinning them and pushing Mitchell down onto the bed, then leaning forward to strip his pants the rest of the way down, dragging his underwear along. Mitchell puts his arms above his head and hooks a leg around John’s thigh to pull him closer.

“Get down here,” Mitchell says, voice scratchy.

John grins, running his hands up Mitchell’s thighs and taking his dick in a soft grip. He strokes his thumb over the head while Mitchell cusses and spreads his legs, one heel digging into the end of the mattress, the other still tucked around John’s thigh. “How about I get down _here_?” 

Mitchell barks a laugh. “Oh my god, that was terrible,” he says, his voice dropping an octave as John drops to his knees at the edge of the bed. “God, fuck, John.”

“Mhm,” John hums, using one motion to wrap his hand more firmly around the base of Mitchell’s cock and lean forward to swallow as much of it as his gag reflex will allow. He hums again as he sucks and pulls off to drag his tongue along the slit.

John knows what Mitchell’s face looks like now. He’s blown him -- or watched Evan blow him -- enough times to have the the way his eyes close and he bites down on the side of his lip memorized. He licks a stripe from base to tip, following the thick vein, before swallowing him down again. “John, Jesus, fuck,” Mitchell mutters, thrusting his hips just enough for John to feel it.

John pulls off and presses light kisses down the side of Mitchell’s cock, letting his hand move to cup Mitchell’s balls, his index finger smoothing across his taint.

Mitchell’s heel digs further into the mattress and he sits up, grabbing the back of John’s neck. “Seriously, shit, get up here.” Mitchell’s pupils are blown and John grins, using his arms on the mattress to lever himself back to his feet, ignoring the twinge in his knees. Mitchell hooks his free arm around John’s back, dragging him forward and onto the bed with an impressive ripple of abdominal muscle.

John plants his knees to either side of Mitchell’s hips and lets himself be dragged down into a kiss. Mitchell’s hands move to frame John’s face, and John relaxes, opening his mouth to let Mitchell own the kiss.

Breaking off, Mitchell groans, “Why the hell are you still wearing pants,” and makes quick work of the buttons and zip of John’s slacks, sliding his hands down the back of John’s briefs to push the lot of it down his thighs. John kicks the remainder off the edge of the bed, leaning forward to kiss his way down the side of Mitchell’s neck.

He isn’t surprised when Mitchell takes a hold of his hips and flips them over, kneeling between John’s legs and running his hands up his sides. John smiles and slides his hands into Mitchell’s hair, pulling him down into a kiss. Mitchell plants his hands on either side of John’s ribcage and deepens the kiss.

“God, I missed you,” Mitchell says, breaking the kiss to stare at John like he’s never seen him before. He leans forward to press his face into John’s neck, taking a deep breath and using his knees to push John’s thighs further apart.

John hums his response, letting his hands drift down Mitchell’s chest and abdomen before he drags them back up Mitchell’s sides and curves them around his shoulders.

Mitchell laughs, says, “I miss you, too, Evan, you damn creep,” and kisses John’s neck. 

“He told me to tell you--,” John says, shifting his hips to wrap his legs around Mitchell’s waist, pressing their cocks together briefly, “--to tell you he loves you, thank you for the video, and that you should take the first two weeks of March off, he has leave, and Jesus, Cam, just fuck me.” 

“Romantic,” Mitchell says, laughing into the junction between John’s neck and shoulder. He shifts his weight to run a hand down the inside of John’s thigh, from his crotch to his knee, spreading his legs wider.

“Hm,” John manages, then, “that last part was me.” He groans as Mitchell shifts his weight further and brushes their cocks together again. “Please, Cam--” He stops when Mitchell’s hand runs back along his thigh, his thumb brushing over John’s hole.

Mitchell sits back on his heels and John lets his arms fall to his sides. “Since you asked so nicely,” Mitchell says, running his hands up John’s thighs, over his hips, and halfway up his abdomen. “Lube?” he asks.

“Under the pillow,” John answers, watching the smile grow on Mitchell’s face.

“Convenient,” Mitchell says, fishing the tube out from underneath John’s pillows.

“Like I said,” John says, “I knew you’d follow me home.” He grins. “Like a puppy.”

Mitchell laughs. He snaps open the tube, squeezing lube onto his fingers. “Like this?” he asks. 

John lets his eyes drift closed. “Yeah.” He slits his eyes back open. “I want to watch you.” John watches Mitchell’s breath catch, like he knew it would, and doesn’t expect a response.

He feels more than sees Mitchell’s finger slip inside, thick and rough with callouses. He relaxes as the familiarity returns and he meets Mitchell’s gaze. “Hey, there,” Mitchell says, the muscles in his arm moving as his finger slides in and out a few times.

John grins. “Hi,” he says. He groans as Mitchell finds his prostate and presses down, callouses catching on the soft flesh. “That feels fantastic.”

“I try,” Mitchell says, sliding a second finger in alongside the first, spreading them gently before hooking both and dragging another groan out of John. He moves the two fingers in and out, spreading them as he does, and John can feel himself loosening. John watches Mitchell’s face, the smile there a mixture of satisfied and something else. Something softer, sturdier, sensitive. If he had to give love a facial expression, that would be it.

He knows his own face looks almost the same, Evan’s obsession with video having long ago removed the shame of it writ there, for anyone to see.

“One more.” A third finger joins the others as Mitchell shifts to run his spare hand over the soft skin at the base of John’s abdomen. John hisses softly as the sensitive skin flinches and contracts, the sensation almost too much with Mitchell’s fingers in his ass. Mitchell says softly, “That’s it,” as John closes his eyes to center himself.

“Shit,” John says, opening his eyes again. “Cam.”

“Yes?” Mitchell answers, grinning.

John rolls his eyes. “Just fucking do it already.” Before he’s finished speaking, Mitchell has pulled out his fingers and has his cock pushing in. The extra stretch hurts, but in a comfortable way, and John lets out a long breath when Mitchell is fully seated. “Get down here,” he breathes, wrapping a hand around Mitchell’s biceps and tugging.

“You’re going to regret that tomorrow,” Mitchell says, but he leans in anyway, pressing their mouths together in a breathless kiss. John groans at the stretch both in his legs and hips and in his ass, but slides his hand around Mitchell’s shoulder and keeps him there, anyway.

“My knees already regret this,” John says, breathing heavily as Mitchell kisses his way down John’s jaw and throat. “I’ll survive.”

Mitchell chuckles. “I sure hope so.” He bites softly at John’s collarbone. “Though sex is probably a good way to go.”

John huffs a laugh. “You’d get to be the one to tell Evan he was Military Commander. We’d both be dead.”

“Fair,” Mitchell agrees. “Are you good?”

“Yeah,” John says, shifting his hips a little, pulling Mitchell into another kiss. Mitchell bites down on John’s lower lip as he slides his cock out far enough that only the head is still inside. He lets go as he slides back in. Mitchell shifts his hips slightly as he starts fucking John in earnest, only holding when John’s shout tells him he’s found what he’s looking for.

“Fuck, John,” Mitchell mutters as he keeps the angle, hitting John’s prostate every time he thrusts. John hears himself shouting and groaning, but can’t find it in himself to care, instead watching Mitchell bite his lip and close his eyes, his forehead shiny with sweat.

John tucks a hand into Mitchell’s hair and watches his neck tense as his orgasm creeps up on him. He bats away Mitchell’s hand when it reaches for his cock; he doesn’t need it, hasn’t for ages. His orgasm hits just as Mitchell’s thrusts fall out of rhythm, and he’s just coming down when Mitchell drops to his elbows, breathing heavily into John’s shoulder.

After a few moments, Mitchell pulls out and lets his full weight come to rest on John before sliding to the side, still half on top of John and breathing into his shoulder. He laughs, says, “God, I can’t remember the last time we did it missionary.”

John snorts. He muscles his pinned arm around Mitchell’s back, rubbing slow circles. “That’s because it hasn’t been just the two of us in years.”

Mitchell nods into John’s neck, taking a deep breath. He’ll be asleep in minutes, and John will be left sticky and uncomfortable. He shakes Mitchell’s shoulder. 

“Cam. I’m going to go grab a towel, you strip this comforter off,” John says, starting to slip out from under Mitchell’s octopus sprawl.

“Ugh,” Mitchell says, rolling onto his back. “Stop being practical, Sheppard.”

John rolls to his feet and pads in the direction of the bathroom. “I refuse to wake up stuck together,” he calls over his shoulder. He wets a towel and wipes himself down, catching the come leaking out of his ass and down his legs before dropping the towel in the bin and wetting a second for Mitchell. 

Mitchell, who is sound asleep when John exits the bathroom, still laying on top of the savaged comforter.

John wipes him down before throwing the towel on the floor and shaking Mitchell until his eyes crack open. “Move, so I can pull this comforter off the bed.”

“Yes, sir,” Mitchell says, shimmying his way up the bed to where the pillows are waiting. John swipes the comforter and balls it up, sending it the way of the towel. He pulls the sheets out from under Mitchell and shakes them out before lying down and pulling them up and over the both of them.

It takes Mitchell less than a breath to have rolled over and onto John’s side, burying his face in John’s neck. John’s phone is on the side table, where he put it after he’d finished setting up the camera, and he pulls up the digital alarm. He sets it for when he needs to get up if he wants to shower before he leaves, then shakes Mitchell again. “Cam. What time do you need to be up?”

Mitchell groans into his shoulder. “John, seriously, just go to sleep.”

“I’m setting my alarm for 05:45 so I can shower and catch my flight. If you want to sleep past that, we’ll have to set the room alarm when I leave. You won’t be coherent. What time do you need to be up?” John asks, shaking Mitchell’s shoulder a little harder.

“I’m not leaving until Monday,” Mitchell says, slitting his eyes open. “So just set it for when you need to check out and I’ll check out for you.”

“Check out is at 11:00,” John says, “so I’ll set it for 10:30 when I leave.”

“S’fine,” Mitchell says, sliding a hand down John’s stomach to settle at his hip. “Sleep now.”

John puts his phone back, then reaches over to hit the lights. “Do you want me to wake you up before I leave?”

He can feel Mitchell’s scowl in the dark. “What kind of question is that?”

“The kind that needs to be answered,” John says, getting his crushed arm around Mitchell’s waist once again.

“Of course I want you to wake me up,” Mitchell says, tightening his grip on John’s hip.

“Fully?” John asks.

Mitchell groans. “Yes, John. Fully. I want to say goodbye, and I want to remember it.” He kisses the stretch of John’s shoulder in front of him. “I don’t see you enough as it is.”

“Hm,” John agrees, kissing the top of Mitchell’s head.

“Love you, too,” Mitchell says, stroking lightly with the thumb at John’s hip. “Now can we sleep?”

John settles the sheet around his waist, Mitchell plenty hot enough to keep him warm, then adjusts his pillow. “Now we can sleep.”

 

_Coda_

John hands over the small camera, grinning. “Cam says, ‘Never again.’”

Evan laughs as he scoops up the camera. “We’ll see.” He glances down at the camera in his hand. “Is it any good?”

“Let’s go find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> There is, in fact, a giant outline for How They Got Together, and maybe someday I'll write it? Most of it's implied here, but very faintly. My goal was initially to write that, but it's going to be at least three times longer than this, and I simply didn't have time. My apologies!
> 
> Also: while I read through this a few times, ~~it has not had an outside beta, so any mistakes are my own~~. Forgot to change that after it got a beta. Only dirty_diana has read this pre-beta, and she's amazing, so hopefully all of that nonsense got much better.
> 
> Fun fact: I had to physically restrain myself from calling this Two Outta Three Ain't Bad. You're welcome.


End file.
